CHAPTER VI.

"MOVING ACCIDENTS" BY RAIL AND COACH--SHORT TIME FOR THE

ISSUE OF RAILWAY TICKETS--RECKLESS DRIVERS--AN AFFAIR OF

HONOUR--ANECDOTE OF THE LATE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

CHAPTER VI.

A great deal has been written and said upon the subject of accidents

in travelling, and comparisons have been made between those caused

by rail and road. There can be no doubt that there has been an awful

sacrifice of life and an enormous amount of injury attributable to

the rail. Where hundreds formerly made their journeys by public mails

and stage-coaches, or travelled in their own carriages, thousands

upon thousands are now conveyed by steam; and out of those thousands

how many are reckless and foolish!--scrambling into the carriages

when they are moving, or rushing out before they stop.

Although it would be, humanly speaking, impossible to provide against

accidents, for in or after a frost ironwork cannot be depended upon;

still, some might be averted by extra care and diligence on the part

of those to whom the lives of Her Majesty's faithful subjects are

entrusted. I believe it is many years since an accident has occurred

on the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway; and this is mainly

owing to the unremitting attention of the general manager, J. P.

Knight, Esq., and his staff; and probably there are other railways

equally well looked after and equally free from danger.

To render railway travelling safer than it now is, the following

rules should be adopted:--First and foremost, the men should be

better paid, and not overworked; secondly, the telegraph and signal

duties should be placed in the hands of responsible and intelligent

persons; and last, not least, punctuality in starting should be

rigidly enforced, for in making up for lost time many have found to

their cost that the old hunting maxim has been realised, "It is the

pace that kills."

To carry out the latter, luggage should be sent into the station a

quarter of an hour before the time of departure, and the doors closed

to passengers five minutes before the train leaves. How often have

I seen trains delayed in London and at different stations in the

country through the late arrival of some persons of distinction! The

humbler classes do not fare quite as well, for many a farmer's wife,

country girl, labourer, or mechanic has either been left behind or

has been hustled into the third class carriages, leaving band-boxes,

baskets, tools or implements on the platform. It is only a few months

ago that I saw the above illustrated.

At ---- station, just after the train was in motion, a well-appointed

waggonette drove up, the coachman shouting "Wait a moment!" The

injunction was obeyed, the train was stopped, and in about four

or five minutes two middle-aged ladies, a tiny specimen of the

canine race, a luncheon basket, dressing case, work-basket, cloaks,

umbrella, and parasols were deposited in a first class compartment,

and a large amount of luggage placed in the van. The darling little

white, curly-haired pet, "Bijou" by name, soon emancipated itself

from the muff in which it had been hid, much to the discomfiture of

myself and other occupants of the carriage! Mark the contrast! After

about an hour's journey we stopped at a very rural station, and just

as the whistle was about to be blown a quiet, respectable-looking

female, evidently of the humbler grade, rushed out of the office

with merely a small basket in her hand, exclaiming,

"Am I in time, guard?"

"Plenty," he responded, "for the next train."

The whistle was heard, and the poor woman left behind, to ruminate

for four hours upon her ill-luck.

There is another evil which many of the railways have got rid of,

and which we trust will shortly be universally adopted--I refer to

the brief time allowed for taking tickets. In Glasgow (I speak from

experience) you may purchase your ticket in offices appointed for the

sale of them independent of the railway station. To the public this

is a special boon, and upon one occasion I found the benefit of it.

I was engaged to give a lecture at the City Hall, Glasgow, which

was to commence at eight o'clock. The night train to London left at

twelve minutes after nine, so there was not much time to spare. By

taking my ticket in the afternoon, leaving my portmanteau in the

cloak-room, engaging an intelligent porter to take it out and have

it ready for me, and benefiting by the kindness of my host, Wm.

Holms, Esq., M.P. for Paisley, who conveyed me in his brougham from

the lecture-hall to the station, I arrived in time for the train,

reaching my London home in time for a ten o'clock breakfast, with

ample time, as the Yorkshireman says, "to have a wash before a bite."

I now turn to accidents by road. These were principally caused

through the carelessness of the drivers, a refractory team, a

coach that had not been thoroughly inspected before starting, and

occasionally by a coachman who had imbibed a considerable quantity of

strong ale or fiery spirits. I could fill pages with accidents that

have occurred to stage-coaches, in which many were killed and others

most severely hurt.

If I recollect right, a Worcester coach, descending the steep hill

into Severn Stoke, was overturned, none of the passengers escaping

death; and on all the roads east, west, south, and north of London

frequent upsets took place, more especially during the foggy month of

November, where ditches bounded the main road.

I well remember travelling from Windsor to London on the box

of Moody's coach, driven by "Young Moody," as he was called in

contradistinction to his father, the proprietor of it. I was on

the box seat; and after passing Cranford Bridge a dense fog set in,

one of those fogs that are described as resembling the colour of

pea-soup. The coach was full inside and out.

"I don't half like this," said Moody. "If I can only manage to get

safe to Hounslow, I'll have the lamps lit."

In those days lucifer-matches were quite unknown, so to get a light

from any of the passengers was impossible; not so would it be at the

present time, when almost every one carries with his pipe or cigar a

box of matches.

Scarcely had my box companion uttered the above words when we were

upset, an accident caused by our driving into a deep, broad ditch. I

and the outsiders were pitched into the furze on the heath, anything

but a bed of roses, while the insides were screeching for help. Some

of us ran to the horses to keep them quiet, others lent their aid in

extricating three middle-aged ladies and an elderly gentleman who

were confined in what one of the females described as the "opaque

body of a stage-coach."

After some trouble things were put to rights; happily, no one

being severely injured. Thinking it more than probable that if we

attempted to proceed on our journey without lamps we should meet with

another mishap, I got a labouring friend who came to our assistance

to walk to the "Travellers' Friend," and borrow two lanthorns. This

he accordingly did; so with the aid of our own lamps and the above

lights we managed to reach Hounslow in safety. From Hounslow to

London we had difficulties to contend against, for the dim oily rays

of a few lamps and lights in shops had not then given way to the

brilliancy of gas.

A few years afterwards, when travelling inside the Henley coach, an

axletree broke, and we were upset into a drift of snow--soft, but

rather cooling. Upon this occasion an outside passenger had his arm

fractured.

My third and fourth upsets from private carriages will be duly

recorded.

It occasionally happened that driving out or into a yard, despite the

warning "Take care of your heads," some half-sleepy or inattentive

passenger met with a serious accident by his head coming in contact

with the roof. Then, again, a skid would come off the wheel going

down hill at an awful pace, which, of course, brought the passengers

to grief. An inveterate kicker or a giber added to the dangers of the

road, and a heavy snowstorm, in which the passengers had to descend

and make their way to the nearest wayside inn or cottage, did not

improve their condition.

Of course when due precautions were taken, the accidents were,

comparatively speaking, few. I have travelled at a tremendous pace

by the "Hirondelle"--irreverently called the "Iron Devil"--by the

"Wonder," between Shrewsbury and London, and by almost all the fast

coaches between London and Brighton, London and Oxford, London and

Southampton, London and Bath, and have never met with the slightest

accident.

In bygone days it was very agreeable, albeit rather expensive, to

travel post, especially in your own light chariot or britchka; but

to be dependent upon hack chaises on the road was far from pleasant.

These chaises were not very well hung on springs, the windows seldom

fitted closely, and the rattling noise reminded one of a dice-box in

full play upon wheels. There was generally straw enough at your feet

to hold a covey of partridges. Although these vehicles were light

and followed well, a great deal of time was wasted in shifting your

luggage from one to another at every stage, or, at most, every other

stage.

I once left London on an affair of importance--namely, that of

carrying a hostile message from a friend to a gentleman who resided

near Marlborough, and found it so difficult to rouse the ostler,

postboy, and the man who looked after the chaises, that I got no

farther than Botham's at Salt Hill.

I left the Piazza Coffee-House, where the letter had been concocted

demanding an apology or a meeting, about eleven at night, was kept

waiting for more than a half hour at the "Red Lion," Hounslow, and

only reached Salt Hill about half-past one in the morning. There,

again, had I to awake the sleepy ostler and drowsy waiter, the latter

of whom strenuously recommended me to sleep at the hotel and continue

my journey at daylight. This I accordingly did; but what with the

arrangement of the affair of honour, as it was called, and which

ended amicably, I was nearly two-and-twenty hours on the journey by

road that could now be accomplished with ease by rail in less than

seven.

I have alluded to two upsets that I have in the course of my life met

with from private travelling-carriages. The first occurred in July,

1814, when returning with the late Duke of Wellington from Windsor

to London. His Grace had been dining with the officers of the Royal

Horse Guards (Blues), in which regiment I had the honour of holding

a commission, when, as we reached Brentford, at night, the linch pin

came out of the fore wheel of his carriage, by which it was upset.

Nothing would satisfy the people but drawing the carriage to London,

which they certainly would have done but for the remonstrance of his

Grace, which finally succeeded. After a delay of half an hour the

damage was repaired, and we reached London in safety. The accident

might have proved a fatal one, for we were travelling as fast as four

good horses could take us.

Had such a calamity happened to Wellington, then in the prime of

life, no one can hardly picture the consequences. Happily his life

was spared to add another conquest to those he had won on the banks

of the Douro, of the Tagus, the Ebro, and the Garonne.

The second and last upset I had was on the night of my return from

Canada, in 1819, when, in driving through Goodwood Park, the postboys

drove over a bank and, to use a common expression, "floored the

coach."

CHAPTER VII.

TRAVELLING IN IRELAND--BIANCONI'S CARS--JOURNEY FROM

CORK TO DUBLIN IN A POST-CHAISE--IRISH WIT--A POOR-LAW

COMMISSIONER--MR. PEABODY--SIR WALTER SCOTT AND A GENUINE

PADDY--MR. CHARLES BIANCONI--IRISH CAR DRIVERS.

CHAPTER VII.

Travelling by road in Ireland was and is very different from what it

was and is in England. The mail and stage-coaches, almost similar

to the English ones, were well-horsed, and kept their time very

regularly. Occasionally "a frolicsome baste," or "rale bit of blood

who won the plate at the Curragh," would start off at a tremendous

pace, upset the "drag," the driver assuring the passengers that they

were the "quietest craythures in Ireland," adding, "I'll give it ye,

ye bastes, ye venomous sarpints, when I get ye home."

The harness, too, was not a little the worse for wear, having so

often been mended with string and rope that in descending a hill it

would break into "smithereens," and now and then, when whisky was in

the ascendant, the Jehu was so venturesome that in descending a hill

he would come to grief.

After a time the public cars, introduced by M. Bianconi displaced

the regular coaches. In form they resembled the common outside

jaunting-car, but were calculated to hold from twelve to sixteen

persons. They were admirably horsed, had steady drivers, the team

generally consisting of three horses, which travelled at the rate

of seven Irish miles an hour, equivalent to nine English miles, the

fares averaging twopence a mile. They were open cars, but a huge

leather apron afforded protection from showers of rain, which are

so prevalent in the sister isle. Post-chaises, which are now nearly

extinct, were awful conveyances.

I have a very lively impression of a journey from Cork to Dublin

some fifty years ago in these vehicles; the one furnished by the

proprietor of the Imperial Hotel, Cork (then, and I believe now,

an excellent hôtellerie), which took me the first stage, was clean

and comfortable; not so those that followed. Springs they appeared

to have none; or, if they had, they were so covered with rope that

there was no elasticity left in them. They rattled worse than any

fire-engine.

The roof was so dilapidated and the windows so broken that, except

for the honour of the thing, you might as well have had no covering

at all; the harness came to pieces whenever "Paddy" gave his horses a

spurt, and the cattle were "divels to go." So disagreeable did I find

the journey in a post-chaise that at Youghal I engaged a car, and

prosecuted my journey to Dublin in cars.

Persons who have never travelled in Ireland in these conveyances can

have a very inadequate idea of the ready wit of the drivers. It has

been admirably well told by Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall, from whose work

on the scenery and character of Ireland I quote the following:--

Some one told a story of a fellow who, on grumbling at the shilling

gratuity at his journey's end, said, in a sly undertone,

"Faith, it's not putting me off ye'd be if ye knew but all."

The traveller's curiosity was excited.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, faix! that ud be telling."

Another shilling was tendered.

"And now," asked the gentleman, "what do you mean by saying if ye

knew but all?"

"That I driv yer honour the last three miles without a linchpin!"

"Will I pay the pike or drive at it, plase yer honour?" was the

exclamation of a driver to his passenger as he suddenly drew up a few

yards from the turnpike gate.

When an Assistant Poor-Law Commissioner first visited Cork, the coach

by which he arrived set him down next door to the "Imperial Hotel,"

his place of destination. Not being aware of this fact, he ordered a

car and gave his direction to the driver. The fellow conducted him

round the town and through the various streets and lanes, and, after

an hour's driving, placed him at the hotel entrance, demanding and

receiving a sum of five shillings, which his victim considered a

reasonable charge. A few minutes afterwards he discovered the trick

that had been played upon him.

One of the richest characters of the class we encountered on the road

from Ross to Wexford; he told us how he got his first situation.

"The masther had two beautiful English horses, and he wanted a

careful man to drive them; he was a mighty plisant gentleman, and

loved a joke. Well, there was as many as fifteen after the place, and

the first that wint up to him was examined as follows:--

"'Now, my man,' says he, 'tell me,' says he, 'how near the edge of a

precipice would you undertake to drive my carriage?'

"So the boy considered, and he says, says he,

"'Within a foot, plaze your honour, and no harm.'

"'Very well,' says he, 'go down, I'll give ye yer answer, by-and-by.'

"So the next came up, and said he'd be bound to carry 'em within half

a foot; and the next said five inches; and another--a dandified chap

intirely--was so mighty nice that he would drive it within 'three

inches and a half, he'd go bail.'

"Well, at last my turn came, and when his honour axed me how nigh I

would drive his carriage to a precipice, I said, says I,

"'Plaze, yer honour, I'd keep as far off it as I could.'

"'Very well, Misther Byrne,' says he, 'you're my coachman,' says he.

"Och! the roar there was in the kitchen whin I wint down and tould

the joke!"

I heard a good story of the philanthropic Peabody, who, though

princely in his liberality, did not like to be imposed upon. Upon

one occasion he resisted an exorbitant demand, and only gave the

car-driver his proper fare!

"Bedad!" said the man; "they may call you Mr. Paybody, but I call you

Mr. Paynobody."

Another instance will suffice. As Sir Walter Scott was riding with a

friend in the neighbourhood of Abbotsford, he came to a field-gate,

which an Irish beggar, who happened to be near, hastened to open

for him. Sir Walter was desirous of rewarding this civility by the

present of sixpence, but found that he had not so small a coin in his

purse.

"Here, my good fellow," said the Baronet, "here is a shilling for

you, but mind you owe me sixpence."

"God bless your honour," exclaimed Pat, "may your honour live till I

pay you."

The Irish car is so peculiar and characteristic an institution that

a brief sketch of the author of the system may not be here out of

place. Mr. Charles Bianconi, a native of Milan, came over to Ireland

in the year 1800, and set up at Clonmel as a picture-dealer. Struck

with the want of accommodation that existed between the various towns

of the district, an idea entered his head of remedying the deficiency

by introducing a new conveyance. He had heard that Derrick, in 1760,

had been compelled to set out on horseback on a journey from Cork to

Killarney, there being no public carriage to be had in the city of

Cork.

Between that period and 1800 no great improvement had taken place;

so the enterprising Italian, who had saved some money, started a car

between Clonmel and Cahir. After struggling for some time against all

the difficulties that ever attend a new scheme, after inciting the

people to abandon their indifference, to conquer their prejudices,

he so far succeeded as to enable him to run others to Limerick and

Thurles.

The public, hitherto apathetic, were roused into action; the new

scheme met with universal patronage; soon Bianconi's name was

uppermost in everyone's thoughts; the double cars increased to

nearly fifty in number, travelling daily over nearly four thousand

miles. These vehicles were so constructed as to carry numerous

passengers and a large amount of luggage; they were all built at the

inventor's factory at Clonmel; they travelled at the rate of six

to nine statute miles an hour, and were admirably well adapted for

all who journeyed for business or pleasure. For tourists they were

invaluable, as from the cars extensive views of the country might be

seen; moreover, the driver was always so full of genuine fun that he

enlivened the whole journey with his quaint Milesian sayings.

Generally, too, he was well acquainted with the locality, and would

tell amusing anecdotes of the occupiers of the stately mansions in

the neighbourhood, and of their humbler neighbours. The rail has in a

great measure driven cars off the road, but they are still to be had

at all the principal towns and at almost every village in Ireland.

The wit of the drivers is not at all deteriorated, and the cattle

they drive are first-rate. Upon a recent occasion I engaged a car at

Inistioge, in the county of Kilkenny, from one Mr. Cassin, to take

me to New Ross; the distance is nearly ten English miles, and the

driver, who had an eye for the picturesque, insisted upon taking me

one way and bringing me back another; and from the time I left until

my return I was kept in a fit of laughter.

Upon dismissing "Paddy" I asked him what I had to pay.

"Five shillings, yer honour, for the car, and whatever you plaze for

the driver."

"But if I plaze to give you nothing?"

"Well, then, yer honour, I'll be perfectly satisfied, as you are

quite a credit to the car."

A good story is told of a car-driver who was conveying a tourist

through a most picturesque part of Ireland, when all of a sudden the

"baste" began to kick, and showed evident symptoms of going faster

down a hill than the unfortunate occupier of the car approved of.

"Don't whip him, driver, or you'll make him run away."

"Bedad, yer honour, ye needn't be afeard of that. He's a raal sodjer,

and 'ud sooner die than run away."

I must now take leave of Ireland and return to England.

CHAPTER VIII.

COACH ACCIDENTS--ACCIDENT FROM RACING--ACTIONS AT LAW--MAIL

ROBBERIES--ROBBERY BY CONVICTS--A DANGEROUS START--A DRUNKEN

DRIVER.

CHAPTER VIII.

I have already referred to the numerous accidents that occurred on

the road to stage and mail coaches, and could fill a volume with

casualties caused by overturns, violent driving, horses proceeding

miles without drivers, drunken coachmen, low gateways, overloading,

breaking down, and racing. One of the most memorable events connected

with racing occurred in 1820, when Thomas Perdy and George Butler

were charged at the Hertford Assizes with the wilful murder of

William Hart, who was thrown off the Holyhead Mail, of which Perdy

was the driver, and which had been upset by the Chester Mail, of

which Butler was the driver. The grand jury having thrown out

the bill for the capital offence, they were tried on a charge of

manslaughter. Two witnesses who were suffering severely from the

accident deposed to the following effect:--

Mr. Archer, a respectable bootmaker, of Cheapside, London, stated

that he sat on the box with the prisoner Perdy. When the coach

arrived at that part of the road beyond Highgate, where a junction

is formed between the Archway Road and the old Highgate Road, the

Chester Mail came up. Both coachmen began to whip their horses and

put them into a gallop, and drove abreast of each other at a furious

rate for a considerable distance, when the driver of the Chester

Mail slackened the pace of his horses, and seemed conscious of the

impropriety of his conduct; but when the coaches approached towards

St. Albans, and had arrived at the hill about a mile from that town,

the prisoner Perdy put his horses into a furious gallop down the

hill. His example was followed by the other prisoner, who endeavoured

to overtake him; and a most terrific race ensued between the two

carriages, the velocity of both increasing by their own accelerated

descent down an abrupt hill.

The road was wide enough for three carriages to pass each other;

but the prisoner Butler, perceiving that Perdy was keeping ahead of

him, pushed his horses on, and waving his hat and cheering, suddenly

turned his leaders in front of the leaders of the Holyhead Mail,

which, in consequence of being jammed in between the bank of the road

and the other vehicle, was immediately upset. The consequences were

frightful. The deceased was killed on the spot, the witness had a

leg and an arm shattered most dreadfully; and a gentleman's servant,

named Fenner, was taken up almost lifeless.

Thomas Fenner confirmed the last witness. He stated that both the

prisoners were flogging their horses at a most furious rate down the

hill, and he was convinced that the accident might have been avoided

with common care, notwithstanding the velocity with which the horses

were driven, as there was quite room enough for the Chester Mail to

have passed the Holyhead.

Mr. Baron Gurney summed up the case for the jury in an eloquent and

impressive manner. The jury found the prisoners "Guilty."

The learned Judge, in passing sentence, commented on the conduct of

the prisoners in terms of strong animadversion. His Lordship laid

it down distinctly, as a proposition not to be disputed, that it

was unlawful for the driver to put his horses into a gallop, and

that he was answerable for all the consequences of an infringement

of this law. The driver of a stage-coach was bound to protect even

the intoxicated, the blind, the aged, and the helpless against their

own want of caution or imprudence. The case now before the Court

presented circumstances of gross aggravation, and his Lordship felt

it his duty to pronounce the severest judgment that the law would

allow, which was that the prisoners should be severally confined in

the common gaol of this county for the term of one year.

At the Wiltshire Assizes in 1813, an action was brought by a Mr.

Gooden against the proprietors of a mail coach, to recover damages

for a serious injury sustained by the plaintiff, from its being

overturned. It appeared in evidence that the plaintiff was an outside

passenger, that the coach was overturned immediately on quitting the

yard of the "Red Lion Inn," Salisbury, and that a compound fracture

of the plaintiff's leg was the consequence of the accident. It seemed

established that there was no gross misconduct on the part of the

coachman to call for vindictive damages. Mr. Justice Gibbs left it to

the jury to determine whether the defendants were liable on account

of the apparent heedlessness of the coachman in not leading the

horses out of the yard, and it was agreed that if the jury found the

defendants liable, the verdict should pass for all such expenses as

the plaintiff had reasonably incurred, which were to be ascertained

by a reference. The jury found a verdict for the plaintiff, and the

referee assessed the damages at six hundred pounds.

In the same year there was an inquest held upon a woman who was run

over by a Manchester coach, and the verdict was "Accidental death,"

with a deodand of four pounds on the fore horse.

On the night of November the 23rd, 1696, six highwaymen attacked

the Ware coach on Stamford Hill, and after the customary amount

of imprecations, led the horses, vehicle, and passengers under a

gibbet; they then proceeded to rifle each individual, and tore out

the breeches-pockets, and the skirts from the waistcoats of the

gentlemen, to be certain of their contents, which amounted to above a

hundred pounds.

At the moment the thieves had completed their intentions, a

gentleman's servant passed with a cart; the man was immediately

summoned to surrender, which he did without resistance; part of the

lading of this prize proved to be several hampers of wine.

Elated by the success of the evening, the highwaymen opened the

hampers, seized the bottles, and emptied many in repeated healths

to the owner of the liquid, which expanding the generous nature of

the six, they insisted upon the stage coachman and his passengers

solacing themselves for their misfortunes by repeated applications to

the favourite beverage of the "Rosy God;" then presenting each with

two bottles, they were dismissed on their journey in a state nearly

approaching intoxication.

A horseman coming by, they robbed him of his palfrey, but plied him

so hotly with their liquor that he seemed very little sensible of

his loss; so that stumbling to his inn in his boots, with a bottle

in each hand, he made all that he found in the kitchen drink of

his wine, and gave them no small diversion by acting the story and

knocking down several of the company, as the thieves did him.

The person who afforded this diversion to his auditor and spectators

on the memorable night of the robbery, appears to have retained much

of the good-humour produced by the plundered wine when he wrote and

sent the following advertisement to the editor of the "Flying Post:"--

"Whereas some gentlemen of a profession that takes denomination

from the King's highway, did borrow a little money of a certain

person, near the gibbet at Stamford Hill, without any regard to that

venerable monitor, on the 23rd of November last, at night; and though

they were so generous as to make him drink for his money, yet at the

same time they took from him a bright bay nag about thirteen hands

high, his mane shorn, thorough-paced, trots a little, with a saddle,

bridle, and pilch, without either bargain or promise of payment. He

hopes they think his horse worth more than two or three bottles of

wine, and desires they would restore him; or if anybody can give

notice of him to George Boon at the 'Blue Last,' in Islington, so he

may be had again, shall receive ten shillings reward."

In the year 1829, about nine o'clock in the morning, the "Albion"

coach took up as passengers twelve convicts from Chester, who had

been sentenced to transportation for life for various offences,

and who were to be forwarded to Portsmouth, for which purpose a

Portsmouth coach was to meet them at the "Bull and Mouth," London.

The coach had no other passengers except the two keepers who had

charge of the convicts.

About nine in the evening the coach reached Birmingham, where a new

coachman and guard relieved the former ones, and the coach proceeded

to Elmedon, where the convicts partook of some refreshment. After

having gone on four miles to Meriden, the guard's attention was

arrested by hearing one of the convicts filing the chain attached to

his handcuffs. Without apparently noticing the noise, he contrived

to apprise the keeper of the circumstance, who took the guard's

situation behind, the guard placing himself by the side of the

coachman on the box. After this alteration everything became quiet,

and there were no appearances of an attempt at escape.

The coach now approached Coventry, through which it passed; and after

it had proceeded nine miles, in a sequestered part of the road, where

trees extend on each side upwards of six miles, and not a house is

near, in an instant four of the convicts seized hold of the coachman

and guard, stopped the horses, and succeeded in fastening both

coachman and guard with cords and straps. While this was going on,

they stated that they did not intend to injure them or rob the coach,

but were determined at every hazard to regain their liberty. While

this scene was going on in front of the coach, five other convicts

seized the keeper behind, and rifling his pockets obtained the keys

of the handcuffs.

The confusion outside was the signal to the remaining convicts

within; instantly the keeper was laid hold of and confined, and,

having got possession of his handcuff-keys also, they lost no time in

manacling him. The convicts then descended, and began endeavouring

to extricate themselves from their fetters, a work which occupied

them some time, and in which, notwithstanding their violence and

ingenuity, they made very little progress.

While thus engaged, they were suddenly alarmed by the noise of a

coach approaching, and immediately rushed to the fields. As the night

was exceedingly dark, they succeeded in making their escape before

the "Alliance," Liverpool coach, came up, by which time the guard and

coachman had extricated themselves, and were assisting in unbinding

the keepers. Before the convicts were alarmed by the Liverpool

coach, they had detached the horses from the "Albion," probably, if

necessary, to make use of them in their flight. Most of them were

soon retaken.

On the 13th an accident happened to the "Red Rover," Manchester and

London coach. When it arrived at Stone, about twelve o'clock at

night, it had ten outside passengers and one inside. It stopped as

usual at the "Falcon Inn" to change horses. When the fresh horses

were put to, eight of the outside passengers had resumed their seats,

the gentleman inside retaining his place. The coachman and guard were

one of them in the yard, and the other in the kitchen of the inn. The

horses started off, turned the sharp corner of the road leading to

Stafford, and proceeded at a moderate pace. The outside passengers,

on perceiving their situation, began to jump off the coach, and by

the time the coach had proceeded a quarter of a mile on the road

every outside passenger had quitted it. In their falls they all

received injuries more or less severe.

After the outside passengers had left the "Red Rover," the horses

still pursued their course, and when the Birmingham and Liverpool

Mail met them near Ashton they were going at a comparatively steady

pace. The "Beehive" afterwards met them near the turnpike gate,

at which they were on the full gallop. They avoided, however, any

collision with the "Beehive," as they had previously done with the

mail.

On arriving at Tillington, about a mile from Stafford, the coach was

upset. The gentleman inside, having early learned the situation in

which he was placed, took his seat on the floor of the coach, and did

not stir during the whole time; the consequence was that he escaped

without the slightest injury.

In August, 1839, on the arrival of the Falmouth Mail at Bodmin, many

persons, as is usual at the assizes, were waiting to proceed by it

to Exeter, and four inside and three outside passengers were taken

up there. The coach was driven by a man who was not the regular

coachman, but was considered to be an experienced and sober man. The

guard was a young man who had been but recently placed upon that

station, and was not very well accustomed to the road.

After proceeding a short distance the passengers perceived that the

driver was very much intoxicated, and they insisted that he should

not drive the coach further; accordingly the guard took the reins,

and the coachman took his seat behind.

Shortly before reaching the "Jamaica Inn," situate on Bodmin Moors,

and ten miles from that town, there is a very steep descent, with

a sharp turn at the bottom of the hill, and then a steep ascent up

to the inn, where the coach changes horses, and its proper time of

arrival was about twelve o'clock. The people at the public-house were

alarmed by several horses galloping up to the door and then stopping,

and upon going out they discovered they were the mail horses, but

with scarcely any harness upon them.

It appeared that the guard intended to drag the wheel down the hill,

but, the night being very dark and wet, and not well knowing the

road, he had got beyond the brow of the hill before he was aware

of it; he endeavoured to pull up, and it was believed the coachman

got down to tie the wheel, but that he was too tipsy and fell down.

The coach then proceeded down the hill at a most frightful pace.

Being heavily laden, it rocked from side to side, and on getting

to the turn over it went with the most dreadful crash. The horses

fortunately at once broke away. All the passengers were more or

less stunned, and many of those outside were seriously injured with

fractured ribs and bones.

CHAPTER IX.

EXTRAORDINARY OCCURRENCE--COACH ACCIDENTS--DANGER ATTENDING

PRINCE GEORGE OF DENMARK'S VISIT TO PETWORTH--THE MAILS STOPPED

BY SEVERE SNOWSTORMS--SLEDGES USED FOR THE MAILS--DEATH FROM

INCLEMENCY OF WEATHER--DREADFUL STORMS--FLOODS IN SCOTLAND IN

1829--ACCIDENT TO THE BATH AND DEVONPORT MAILS--MAIL ROBBERIES

IN 1839--COACHING IN AUSTRALIA.

CHAPTER IX.

One of the most serious accidents was caused by the breaking down of

the Hertford coach, by which nearly all the passengers, thirty-four

in number, were severely hurt.

An extraordinary occurrence connected with the road occurred in

April, 1820, when a gentleman of noble connection, high fashion,

and large fortune had his carriage and horses seized on their way

from Brighton to London, in consequence of the carriage containing

smuggled goods. A replevin was afterwards effected, on the payment of

five hundred pounds. The real state of the case was as follows:--

The coachman had the folly to secrete two half-ankers of Hollands gin

within the vehicle; and his fellow-servant, the footman, angry at not

being let into the secret, laid an information, and the seizure of

the carriage and horse was the consequence.

Although, unfortunately, there have been of late years many fatal

accidents by rail, caused by carelessness, inattention, and the

over-working of pointsmen and others employed on the respective

lines, I question much, taking into consideration the thousands on

thousands that travel by steam, as compared with those that journeyed

by the road, whether the accidents were not as serious and as

numerous in the days of coaching as they now are.

I shall confine myself to mail and stage-coaches, albeit private

carriages and post-chaises were not exempt from breakings down,

upsets, and other casualties, caused by drunken or reckless drivers,

runaway horses, or by fragile springs, wheels, axletrees, and poles.

Macaulay, as I have already said, in describing the mishaps that

befell Prince George of Denmark and his suite when visiting the

stately mansion of Petworth, draws a favourable contrast between

the effects of an accident on the road in bygone days and a railway

collision in our time; but the great historian would have thought

differently had he been aware of the dangers of the road which I am

about to record.

Prince George and his courtiers were overturned and stuck fast in

the mud upon their journey; but, at the pace they travelled at, no

serious consequence was to be apprehended--they were six hours going

nine miles.

I will now select out of a number a few cases of accidents caused by

the inclemency of the weather, carelessness, and reckless driving.

It often happened that during heavy snowstorms travelling was

impracticable. In March, 1827, the storm was so violent in Scotland

that the mails, especially those from the South, were stopped for

several days, although no snow had fallen further south than Carlisle.

On many parts of the road between Carlisle, Edinburgh, and Glasgow a

path had to be cut out by the labour of men the whole way; the snow

was so deep as to rise in many places above the heads of the outside

passengers of the stage-coaches, while those in the inside saw

nothing on their right and on their left but rough walls of snow.

The mails dispatched from Glasgow to the south were twenty-four

hours proceeding to Douglas Mill, and the mail from Glasgow to

Edinburgh only proceeded three miles, though drawn by six horses. The

guard and coachman set forward with the mail-bags on horseback, and

with great exertion reached Holytown, seven miles further, in as many

hours.

On the following morning another attempt was made, but, after

proceeding a mile, both coachman and guard were obliged to return to

Holytown. A number of men were then employed to clear the road, and

at three o'clock in the afternoon they made a second attempt, but

could only reach Shotts, as the men engaged in cutting the road were

obliged to desist, in consequence of the wind filling up the path as

fast as they cleared it. Next morning they started again at half-past

five, and only reached Edinburgh, in a very exhausted state, in about

twelve hours.

Again, in 1837 one of the heaviest falls of snow ever remembered in

this country took place on the Christmas night. It extended over

every part of the kingdom. So deep were the drifts of snow that in

some of the lower grounds it was from forty feet to fifty feet deep;

thus in many parts of the country all communication by the usual

modes of travelling was entirely suspended. The impediments to the

mails were of the most serious description. Not a single mail of

the 26th of December, which ought to have arrived by six o'clock on

Monday morning, reached the Post Office before half-past eight in

the evening. Of the mails sent out from London on Christmas night,

the Dover went twenty miles and returned, the coachman and guard

declaring the roads to be utterly impassable. The letters were

conveyed daily from Canterbury to Dover on sledges drawn by three and

four horses, tandem. Occasionally they were forwarded by means of

pack-horses. The fare for a passenger on a sledge was two pounds.

Occasionally passengers suffered from the inclemency of the weather.

On one occasion when the Bath coach arrived at Chippenham, the people

of the inn were surprised at seeing three outside passengers lying in

a state of insensibility. On a nearer approach they perceived that

vitality had been actually extinct in two of them for some time, the

bodies being perfectly cold. The third, a soldier, had some faint

signs of animation left, but he expired the following morning. On

the above fatal night it rained incessantly, and the cold was intense.

In 1838 one of the most terrible storms of thunder and lightning

that had been witnessed for many years took place on the 28th of

August, during which the Royal Mail, on its way from York to Leeds,

was overturned a short distance before its arrival at Tadcaster.

The vivid glare of the lightning and the roar of the thunder so

affrighted the horses that they started off, ran the coach upon an

embankment, and it was instantly overturned. There were three inside

and three outside passengers, besides the coachman and guard, all of

whom, with the exception of the coachman, escaped unhurt.

A more serious accident occurred in October. Whilst the Coburg coach,

on its way from Perth to Edinburgh, was receiving the passengers and

luggage from Newhalls Pier, South Queensferry, the leaders suddenly

wheeled round, and, notwithstanding that the guard and coachman were

almost instantly at their heads, coach and horses were precipitated

over the quay. Some of the outside passengers escaped by throwing

themselves on the pier, but those in the inside were less fortunate.

The inside passengers consisted of three ladies and one gentleman.

The coach having fallen into the sea on its side, one lady and

gentleman managed to get their heads thrust out of the window above

the water till extricated from their perilous situation; the other

two were taken out dead. The only outside passenger who kept his

place on the coach until it was precipitated into the water was

pitched into the sea a considerable distance, but, fortunately, saved

himself by swimming ashore. The pole having broken, the leaders were

saved, but the two wheel horses were drowned.

Another accident occurred at Galashiels, where there is a bridge

uniting two curves of the road; upon reaching it one of the horses

commenced kicking, and in a few moments had its hind legs over the

bar. The coachman tried to arrest their progress, but his efforts

were useless, and the coach was overturned in a few seconds. At that

time there were four persons inside; one lady had her arm broken,

and a gentleman had his leg broken; the other passengers sustained

serious injuries, one dying at Galashiels from the effect of the

injuries he sustained.

About nine o'clock the same night the North Briton coach was

approaching Chorley, in Lancashire. The coach was meeting some

waggons, and was followed by a number of carts. The coachman, to

escape the waggons, drew on the opposite side, and, owing to the

mist, went too far, and plunged the vehicle down a precipice. One man

was killed on the spot.

During the floods in Scotland, in 1829, the coast mail-coach, having

left Fochabers at four P.M., got forward, without any interruption,

to the Spey, where, in consequence of the boisterous rapidity of the

torrent, sweeping along with it corn and wood in great abundance,

the boatmen were with difficulty prevailed on to ferry the guard

across. They stated their determination not to venture again while

the current remained so strong. (Since that period a substantial

bridge has been thrown over the Spey.) On his way to the Findhorn the

guard of the mail-coach called on Mr. Davidson, who resides about two

miles to the eastward of that river. He accompanied the guard, and

promptly procured six men to carry the mails across the river, which

was done with scarcely any detention, although the ebbing current was

fearfully strong. Four of Mr. Davidson's men then volunteered their

services and carried the bags on their backs to Earnhill, where the

guard procured a horse and cart, in which he proceeded to Dyke. There

the Reverend Mr. Anken was waiting in readiness, with his servants

and several lights, to assist to forward the mail. One of the

servants from the manse waded before the cart for upwards of a mile,

the water covering the road, in many places to the depth of three

feet. In Auldearn the guard was met by the Reverend Mr. Barclay, who

informed him that the bridge of Nairn had been swept away.

After a most boisterous night the cart arrived opposite to Nairn,

where, the guard blowing his horn, several persons instantly came

forward and advised him not to attempt to cross the bridge, a great

part of it having fallen. Finding it, however, impossible to get a

boat, he drove the cart back to Auldearn, where he remained till

three o'clock in the morning, when he again set out on his way to

Inverness; and, there being still from two to three feet in breadth

of the bridge standing, he, with great peril, passed it.

Great apprehensions were entertained that the bridge of Daviot would

have been swept away, although founded on a rock considerably beyond

the usual height of the water. If this bridge had been carried away

the communication with the south by this road, at least for carriages

and carts, would have been completely cut off, as there is no place

within four miles of the Highland road where the river is fordable.

After much toil and perseverance the guard reached his destination at

Inverness.

In July, 1827, the Bath mail-coach was overturned on its way from

London, between Reading and Newbury, in consequence of the horses

taking fright and bolting from the road into a gravel-pit. The

coachman was thrown from the box among the horses, and received

several contusions from being trod upon. The guard and a foreigner,

who were on the top, were precipitated by the shock to such a

distance, and with such violence, as would probably have proved fatal

to them had not the earth and gravel on which they lighted been

saturated with the rain that fell in the course of the day; and

to the same cause may be ascribed the trifling injury done to the

horses and the coach. In a few minutes after the accident took place

a Bath coach came up. The passengers rendered every assistance in

their power, and, with some difficulty, succeeded in extricating the

inside passengers from the mail. Among them was a naval officer who

was going to join his ship at Plymouth, but he had suffered so much

from the concussion that he was speechless and unable to move. He was

conveyed to a small cottage on the roadside, but died the following

day.

In December of the same year, as the Salisbury coach was on its

journey to London, the fog was so thick that the coachman could not

see his way, and on entering Bedfont, near Hounslow, the horses

went off the road into the pond called the King's Water, dragging

the coach along with them. One of the passengers, Mr. Lockhart

Wainwright, a young man of five-and-twenty years of age, belonging to

the Light Dragoons, was killed on the spot. The water was about two

feet deep, with a soft bottom of mud about two feet more. Whether he

was suffocated in the mud or killed by a blow was not ascertained.

In the inside of the coach were four females--the wife of the

deceased, her maid, a Swiss governess in the family of the Marquis

of Abercorn, and another lady. They all narrowly escaped drowning.

Nothing but the speedy assistance from Bedfont could have saved them.

Above one hundred persons were assembled in a few moments, most of

them soldiers from Bedfont. The soldiers leaped into the water and

extricated the ladies from their perilous situation; the body of the

coach lying on its side, with one of the horses drowned, and the rest

kicking and plunging violently. The inside passengers were bruised,

but not dangerously. Mr. Wainwright owed his death to his humanity.

The night being very severe he had given his place inside to his

wife's maid, and mounted the box beside the coachman, with whom he

was conversing at the time of the accident.

In April, 1826, the Dorking coach left the "Elephant and Castle" at

nine o'clock, full inside and out, and arrived safe at Ewell, when

the driver and proprietor, Joseph Walker, alighted for the purpose of

delivering a parcel from the back part of the coach, and gave the

reins to a boy who sat on the box.

While he was delivering the parcel to a person who stood near the

after wheel of the coach the boy cracked the whip, and the horses set

off at full speed. Several attempts were made to stop them, but in

vain; they passed Ewell church, and tore away about twelve yards of

strong paling, when, the wheels mounting a small eminence, the coach

was overturned, and the whole of the passengers were thrown from

the roof. Some of them were in a state of insensibility, showing no

symptoms of life. One female, who was thrown upon some spikes, which

entered her breast and neck, was dreadfully mutilated, none of her

features being distinguishable; she lingered until the following day,

when she expired in the greatest agony.

While the "True Blue" coach, which ran daily between Leeds and

Wakefield, was descending Belle-hill (the precaution of locking the

wheel not having been observed) the horses got into a gallop, and at

the bottom, the coach being on the wrong side of the road, came in

contact with a coal-cart with such violence as to break the shaft of

the cart and to tear away the wheel of the coach with a part of the

axletree. The coachman was thrown from the box and pitched with his

head upon the ground, by which his skull was dreadfully fractured,

and he died instantly. The coach went forward on three wheels for ten

yards, and then fell over. One of the outside passengers received

a severe internal injury, and very faint hopes were entertained of

his recovery. Another of the outside passengers was thrown under the

coach, and had his thigh broken in two places. He was conveyed to the

Leeds General Infirmary, and suffered the amputation of his limb, but

died in the course of the night.

In August, 1828, as the Devonport Mail was leaving London, the

horses, which were thoroughbred, took fright, and ran off at full

speed. The coachman was unable to stop them, and in passing Market

Street, the near wheels of the coach coming in contact with the

lamp-post at the corner, the pole and splinter-bar were broken, the

horses broke loose from the carriage, and galloped off, dragging the

pole and broken bar after them, till the near leader rushed against

the lamp-post at the corner of Bury Street, the next street to

Market Street, with such force that she broke the spine of her back.

Another accident occurred on the 20th. The turnpike gate at Matterby,

between Winchester and Alresford, is placed at the foot of a hill.

The horses of the London and Poole Mail, having become unmanageable

at the top of the hill, descended it at a furious gallop, and came

so violently in contact with the gate-post, that the post itself

was broken off and carried to a considerable distance. One of the

wheel-horses had his brains knocked out by the concussion, and the

passengers were thrown nearly twenty yards from the coach. One of

them was severely injured, but none were killed. The coachman had

three ribs and his right arm broken, his eye knocked out, and his

head otherwise so bruised and cut that blood flowed copiously from

his mouth, nose, and ears. The guard saved himself by lying down

on the footboard. The coach, notwithstanding the shock, was not

overturned.

Again, on the 23rd, as the Mail from Barnstaple to Bristol had

changed horses at Wivelscombe, and the coachman was about to mount

the box, some noise in the street caused the horses to move down

the hill. The coachman used every effort to stop them, till he was

knocked down. They proceeded to the bottom of the hill, and in

turning a corner the coach upset. Of three outside passengers two

were thrown with great violence over a wall, one of them receiving a

severe contusion in the head, and the latter having an arm broken.

The third was killed. An inside passenger had an arm fractured.

In March, 1830, as the Manchester and Huddersfield Mail was returning

from the former to the latter place, the horses broke out into a

gallop in coming down the hill near Thornton Lodge, and became

unmanageable. On arriving at Longroyd Bridge, the mail came violently

in contact with the curbstone and the parapet, and the coachman

and three outside passengers were precipitated over the parapet

on the rocks and gravel below, a fall of eight or nine yards. The

horses then broke the pole and proceeded with it at a furious rate

to Huddersfield, in the streets of which two of them fell from

exhaustion, and, being entangled in the harness, a stop was put

to the career of the other two. Of the three passengers, one was

found senseless, and died immediately; another had a leg broken; the

coachman was much injured; the third passenger, though his fall was

four feet lower than that of his companions in misfortune, sustained

scarcely any injury. Two other passengers and the guard were

providentially thrown upon the road, and were but slightly hurt.

In the month of September, 1836, three fatal coach accidents

occurred. On the 10th, as the Peveril, Manchester, and London night

coach was on its way to London, and about five miles beyond Bedford,

the pole-chain got loose and one of the horses began kicking and

plunging, and almost immediately the end of the pole attached to the

coach became unfastened. The weight of the coach pressed upon the

horses (the coach then being at the brow of a hill), and they had no

power of resistance. The coachman kept the horses in the road till

they reached the bottom of the hill, when the near wheels ran upon

the grass, which was not more than four or five inches higher than

the road, and caused the coach to overturn on the off side into the

road. One gentleman attempted to jump off; he fell upon his face,

and the coach fell upon him, and on the coachman. They remained

nearly a quarter of an hour in that position, and when extricated

the passenger was quite dead, and the coachman severely injured,

one shoulder being dislocated, and his head and body much cut and

injured. Of the male passengers four had their shoulders dislocated.

In the month of February, 1807, as the Liverpool mail coach was

changing horses at the inn at Monk's Heath, between Congleton and

Newcastle-under-Lyme, the horses which had performed the stage from

Congleton having just been taken off, and separated, hearing Sir

Peter Warberton's foxhounds in full cry, immediately started after

them with their harness on, and kept up the chase to the last. One

of them, a blood mare, kept the track with the whipper-in, and

gallantly followed him for about two hours, over every leap he took,

until the fox, who was a cowardly rogue, had led them round in a ring

fence, and ran to ground. The sportsmen who witnessed the feats of

this gallant animal were Sir Harry Mainwaring, Messrs. Cholmondeley,

Layford Brooke, Edwin Corbett, Davenport, Townshend, Pickford, &c.

These spirited horses were led back to the inn at Monk's Heath, and

performed their stage back to Congleton the same evening, apparently

in higher spirits for having had a gallop with the hounds.

Mail robberies, though not so prevalent as in former years, existed

as late as the year 1839; for in the month of June, at the Worship

Street office, information was given of a daring attempt to rob the

mail between Enfield and Edmonton. In October of the same year a box

containing five thousand pounds in notes and gold was stolen from the

Manchester and Staffordshire coach.

An extraordinary accident occurred in the same month, when a coach

was burnt on the railway. As the "Regulator" coach, from Bristol to

London, was proceeding on one of the uptrains to London, having a

quantity of luggage on the top, owing to the large quantity of sparks

which issued from the chimney, the luggage took fire, a fact which

was only discovered by the coachman (who happened, fortunately, to

have remained inside) seeing sparks of fire falling from the top of

the coach by the window. The coachman, at the hazard of his life

(the train going at the rate of forty miles an hour at the time),

got out and clambered on the roof, and by great exertions removed

the luggage from the roof, and thereby saved the greater part; but

the brisk current of air created by the rapid speed at which the

coach was progressing rendered all attempts to extinguish the flame

unavailable until the roof was destroyed, when, the embers falling

inside, the guard, who had come to the coachman's assistance,

succeeded in putting out the fire.

In 1832 Mr. Babbage, in his work on the "Economy of Manufactures,"

suggested a new plan of conveying the mail. The immense revenue

of the Post Office would afford means of speedier conveyance. The

letter-bags do not ordinarily weigh a hundred pounds, and were then

conveyed in bulky machines of many thousand times the weight, drawn

by four horses, and delayed by passengers. Mr. Babbage proposed the

erection of pillars along each line of road, these pillars to be

connected by inclined wires or iron rods, along which the letters

inclosed in cylinders attached to the rods by rings are to slide;

persons stationed on these columns were to forward the cylinders

from each point, after having extracted the contents belonging to

their own station. In this manner it was calculated that a letter

might be sent (from pillar to post) to the furthest limits of the

land in the course of a very small portion of time; from London to

York, probably, in an hour or two. In the absence of pillars, and

in the interior districts, it was suggested that church-steeples,

properly selected, might answer the purpose, and in London the

churches might be used for the circulation of the twopenny post. The

introduction of the rail and the telegraph has completely remedied

the evil Mr. Babbage complained of.

In May, 1830, much attention was excited in the neighbourhood of

Portland Place by the appearance of a steam-carriage, which made its

way through a crowded passage, without any perceptible impulse. There

was neither smoke nor noise; there was no external force nor apparent

directing agent; the carriage seemed to move by its own volition,

passing by horses without giving them the least alarm. Five gentlemen

and a lady formed the passengers. One gentleman directed the moving

principle, and another appeared to sit unconcerned behind, but his

object was ascertained to be the care of the fuel and water. The

carriage was lightly and conveniently built, not larger nor heavier

than a phaeton. It went without the least vibration, and preserved a

balance in the most complicated movements. The pace was varied from

five to twelve miles an hour, according to pleasure.

Coaching is still the only means of conveyance in many parts of the

Australian colonies, and in certain districts where the roads are

bad, or owing to the nature of the country, it is often attended

with considerable danger. The following account of an accident which

lately occurred in Tasmania, taken from the "Hobart Town Mercury,"

will probably be interesting to many who have travelled by coach in

days gone by.

"An extraordinary accident happened to the Falmouth mail-coach on

the 10th instant, and the passengers experienced an escape from an

awful death, which seems little short of miraculous. After leaving

the little township of Cullenswood, the coach enters St. Mary's Pass,

noted both for its extreme beauty and for the danger with which the

journey through it is sometimes attended. About four hundred yards

from the mouth of the pass on entering, the road is not more than

twelve feet wide. A lofty wall of rock bounds the road on one side,

and on the other is a precipice plunging almost sheer down to a depth

of between one hundred and fifty and two hundred feet.

"When Page's coach arrived at this dangerous spot, on the day in

question, a lad with two horses happened to be coming in the opposite

direction. Instead of retreating into one of the recesses made for

the purpose, while the coach passed, the lad persisted in going on,

and drove his horses between the vehicle and the cliff, one of the

horses backing across the road in front of the coach, the horses in

which took fright and fell, hanging over the precipice. With great

presence of mind, the coachman cut the harness, and the horses, thus

freed, fell through the brushwood down to the bottom of the precipice

of which we have spoken.

"Fortunately for the occupants of the coach--Messrs. Wikborg and

Rattray, who were on their way to George's Bay--the wheels caught

in a log laid on the outside edge of the road, otherwise nothing

could have prevented the coach and passengers from following the

horses in their headlong fall, with what would almost certainly have

been a fatal result. The horses, strange to say, were found almost

uninjured, and an attempt was made to get them up the cliff again,

but when one of the animals had succeeded in climbing about fifty

feet from the valley, he slipped and fell to the bottom. Subsequently

a track was cut by some of the natives of the district, and both

horses were got out safe and sound."

CHAPTER X.

COACHING ACQUAINTANCES--STAGE-COACHMEN OF BYGONE AND MODERN

DAYS--AMATEUR DRIVERS--REQUISITES FOR DRIVING--CRACK DRIVERS--A

POPULAR DRAGSMAN--HIS PRIVILEGES--HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

CHAPTER X.

I once heard a man say that some of his pleasantest acquaintances

were people he had picked up on stage-coaches; but I cannot say

"ditto" to that. He must either have been singularly fortunate in his

companions, or singularly unfortunate in his general acquaintances.

A coaching acquaintance seldom--I should imagine--never ripened into

intimacy; seldom, indeed, survived the occurrence that produced

it. Had the above authority included stage-coachmen, to a certain

degree I would have indorsed his opinion; for, in bygone days, I

have sat beside many agreeable dragsmen; and, from the time that the

heavy coach gave way to the fast one, there has been a wonderful

improvement in the coachmen. The driver was formerly a man of

enormous bulk, with a rubicund face, greatly addicted to strong ale,

often indulging in language the reverse of parliamentary.

There are so many varieties of drunkenness, that it is difficult to

define the state the old-fashioned coachman was too often reduced

to. We hear of a man being "as drunk as a lord;" of being "on;" of

being "muzzy;" of being "cut;" of being "two sheets in the wind;"

of having "a drop too much;" of being "incapable." Perhaps of the

above epithets "muzzy" would be the most appropriate, as owing to

the numerous stoppages at wayside public-houses, the coachman had a

tankard to his lips every half-hour.

The fast coachmen were well-conditioned, in many instances

well-educated men, who could sing a song, and tell a good story

to while away the time. They formed a great contrast to the

old-fashioned coachmen of heavy coaches, who were too often

drunkards, as I have remarked, and who were conspicuous for their

inhumanity in the use of the double thong and a sort of cat-o'-nine

tails called "the apprentice," with which they unmercifully lashed

their wheelers.

It was rather amusing, though mischievously so, to witness the

consternation of the inside passengers when some amateur on the box

"handled the ribbons." Except with a very fast team, the coachman

would turn to his companion and say,

"If you have your driving-gloves on, and would like to take the reins

over the next ten miles, you are welcome to do so."

Of course the reply was in the affirmative. If a tyro accepted the

offer, it was very easy to discover the difference between the

professional and the unprofessional, which the horses themselves

seemed to feel. They became sluggish; not all the "gee upping" and

"go alonging," and the harmless use of the whip, the lash of which

usually got entangled in the lamp or harness, could keep them up to

their work.

This was so apparent that some inside passenger would put his head

out of the window and inquire the cause of the creeping pace they

were proceeding at.

"A heavy piece of road, Sir," responded the coachman, who thought

more of the guinea or half-guinea he expected to receive than of the

loss of time.

"Why, I declare," said the inquiring gentleman, resuming his seat,

"there's a young fellow driving, and I rather think it must be his

first attempt!"

"Oh, let me out!" exclaims an elderly spinster; "we shall be

overturned."

"Disgraceful!" chimed in another. "It was only last week that the

Windsor coach met with an accident through the reckless driving of

some inexperienced fellow."

"I'll report you," said an old gentleman, just roused from his

slumbers. "I paid my fare to be driven by the proper coachman, and

not by a puppy who probably never sat behind four horses in his life."

"And I'll have you dismissed, coachman, for risking our lives," added

another.

Then came a jerk, which caused all the insides to break forth into

the following exclamations:

"There, I told you!"

"We are going over!"

"Do, pray, take the reins, Mr. Coachman!"

In the mean time the "swell dragsman" and his young friend were

laughing heartily at the fears of their precious burden.

"Lots of fear, ma'am, but no danger," said the former, while the

latter inquired where the coachman was going to "shoot his rubbish."

When some experienced amateur took the reins, and with the aid of the

whip judiciously applied, sent the sluggish steed along at the rate

of ten miles an hour, the scene above described again took place, for

the timid female passenger, like the widows of Ashur, was "loud in

her wail."

In those days young Etonians, Harrovians, collegians, and officers

were all taught to drive by the professional coachmen on the road,

and anyone that could manage a refractory team over a stage or two

of ten miles was deemed a proficient, and fit to belong to the

four-horse driving club.

A great many aspirants for coaching honours fancy that sitting

quietly on the box, and guiding the animals safely along the road,

without coming in contact with a post, a curb stone, or another

carriage, is all that is required; but this is far from being the

case. To become a downright good coachman, a man should be able to

put the team together, so as to alter a trace or bit during the

journey; he must take care that every horse does his work, and must

keep the jades up to the collar. He must then be careful to ease his

horses up a hill, spirting down one, and taking advantage of any

level piece of road, make up for the slower pace of a heavier one. He

must also learn how to handle his whip, so as to flip off a horse-fly

from his leaders, and to double thong a refractory wheeler when

gibbing or refusing to work; he must remain perfectly placid upon the

box, even amidst danger never losing his head or his temper, always

remembering that upon his presence of mind depends the fate of his

passengers.

Many noblemen and gentlemen there are who can drive cleverly broken

thoroughbred horses admirably well, but who would be at a loss if

called upon to drive a stage-coach or a "scratch" team to Epsom or

Ascot. There are, of course, many honourable exceptions, and I select

a few, and there may be others, who could worthily fill the places of

the late "Oxford Will," Jack Adams, "Piers," "Falkner," "Probyn," and

Parson Dennis.

At the head of the list I would place two noble Plantagenets--the

Duke of Beaufort and his son, the Marquis of Worcester, who are

_nulli secundus_; next the Earls of Sefton and Craven, Lords

Londesborough, Aveland, Carington, Cole, and Tredegar, Colonels

Tyrwhitt, Owen Williams, the Honourable C. White, and Armytage,

Messrs. Cooper, Trotter, F. Villiers, and H. Wombwell.

It may appear invidious to select the above when there are probably

many more equally good; but I have witnessed the prowess of the

above, and speak not only from what I have myself seen, but from what

I have heard from others.

There was something in the nature of a stage-coachman, a whip of

bygone days, that _smacked_ (we mean no pun) of conscious importance.

He was the elect of the road on which he travelled, the imitated of

thousands. Talk of an absolute monarch, indeed! The monarch even on

his own highway was but a gingerbread one to the "swell dragsman."

To him Jem the ostler rushed in servile eagerness, to him Boniface

showed the utmost deference, for him the landlady ever had a welcome

reception, towards him the barmaid smiled and glanced in perpetual

amicability, and around him the helpers crowded as to the service

of a feudal lord. Survey him as he bowled along the road, fenced

in coats in Winter, or his button-hole decorated with a rose in

Summer. Listen to the untutored melody of his voice, as he directed

the word of exhortation to his spanking tits--three chestnuts and a

grey--enforcing his doctrine with a silver-mounted whip, the gift of

some aristocratic patron of the road, and he will present a feature

of social life in England which no other country possessed. Hark!

already he is entering the village; the well-known horn sounds, the

leaders rattle along the road, and the inhabitants rush out to bid

him a hearty welcome. To some he grants a familiar nod, to others

a smile of recognition, and a few only are honoured by the warmer

salutation of,

"Ah! how are you, old fellow? Glad to see you. Why, you are as fresh

as paint."

He was regarded by all as a privileged person, being possessed of the

power to speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, and, at the

rate of ten miles an hour, bring the travelled husband to the partner

of his sorrow and his joy. He could transport the lover to the feet

of his mistress; he could convey the long-absent son to the arms of

his doting parents; he could bear the schoolboy from the scene of

his tasks to his much-sought-for happy holiday home. How delightful

was it to behold him on a calm Summer's evening bowling through

the market town, through the well-watered streets, with a crew of

ragged urchins, screaming and throwing rural bouquets, culled from

the hedgerows and verdant meadows, on to the box-seat! A smile is on

every face on hearing the sound of the horn--all run to the door to

see the coach go by; the maid-servant drops her mop in the hope of a

packet from her rustic admirer; the youngster plays truant for a few

seconds in the anticipation of a cake from his too-indulgent mother;

the shopman quits his counter to ascertain whether a bale of goods

has been consigned to him from the metropolis; the potboy from the

public-house holds out his rabbit-skin cap as the guard dexterously

throws the neighbouring squire's daily newspaper into it; the barber

extends his apron for his weekly journal; and even the parson, the

pedagogue, the lawyer, and the exciseman, the four most influential

inhabitants of the place, doff their hats as they recognise the

popular "dragsman" and his well-appointed "turn-out."

With respect to his accomplishments they were usually more select

than numerous. I speak of the professional coachman of a century

and a half ago, and not of the more gifted ones, and amateurs who

came into fashion just before the rail drove horseflesh off the

road. If the language of the old whip had not the art of a Sydney

Smith, it had the easy style of nature, with expletive beauties more

particularly its own. On the Shakespearean principle that "discourse

is heavy fasting," the coachman never changed horses at a wayside

public-house or inn without fortifying his stomach with a snack.

Flowing, natural, anecdotal, and occasionally witty (garnished with

a few hearty national Attic anathemas) was the conversation of the

driver in bygone days; while in the science of music he was generally

no mean proficient, warbling forth "Robin Adair," "The Thorn," "The

woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree," and other popular melodies

of the day, to the delight of the outside passengers.

CHAPTER XI.

THE TURNPIKE GATE AT HYDE PARK CORNER--SUBURBAN AND PROVINCIAL

TURNPIKE-MEN--THEIR REFLECTIONS--PANORAMA OF THE ROAD--THE "OLD

WHITE HORSE CELLAR," PICCADILLY--GROUPS OF ITS FREQUENTERS.

CHAPTER XI.

Few, if any, of my readers will remember the time when a

turnpike-gate stood between St. George's Hospital and Apsley House,

though many will not be unmindful of those near the Marble Arch,

Bayswater, and Kensington, all of which were sad nuisances to the

inhabitants of the metropolis.

There was, however, a wide distinction between the official in London

and its suburbs, and the rural collector. The latter was generally an

uncouth, half-sleepy clod, who, on a moderate calculation, detained

you three minutes in procuring the ticket and change, finally placing

six or eight pennyworth of dirty coppers and a fresh written scrap

of paper in your palm, to the detriment of clean hands or gloves.

The suburban was generally "wide awake" to everyone and everything.

He might be seen in his easy-chair before the door of his contracted

space--his smart, white-painted "box"--smoking a mild havannah, which

the kindness of some sporting passer-by had presented him with,

making remarks on passing events; and when none occurred he would

take part in a duet with his blackbird, whose wicker cage hung by his

side, and whistle for want of thought.

His costume was neat; he was ever on the _qui vive_; his mottoes were

"No trust," "_Toujours_ pay, _toujours prêt_." When, like one of

Macheath's gang, he heard "the sound of coaches," his cigar was laid

aside, a ticket taken from a neatly-arranged file, when he exclaimed

"Twopence!" then, twirling the shilling he had received on his

thumb-nail, dived into the multitudinous pockets of his white apron,

handing out a sixpence and a fourpenny-piece to the nobility, and

tenpennyworth of "browns" to the mobility. And what a field he had

for contemplation!

High life and low life, the Royal cortége, the thoroughbred team,

the barouche and four, the yellow post-chaise and pair, the smart

tilbury, the light dennet, the sporting dog-cart, the heavy "bus,"

the gaudy van, the sable hearse, the hackney-coach, the tilted

waggon, and the Whitechapel cart.

The first object that attracted his notice might have been a

ponderous, lumbering, rickety hackney-coach--I write of the days of

the fourth George--the arms emblazoned on the panels, showing that it

had once seen better days, a remnant of faded greatness. The driver,

too, might also have shone in the glittering throng of St. James's on

a birthday. And oh, what a sad falling off was there! Instead of the

three-cornered hat of quaint appearance, bedizened with gold lace and

feathers and its smart cockade, a rusty brown, low-crowned beaver,

with a wisp of straw for a hatband. The gaudy livery had given place

to an old faded coat, bought in the purlieus of the Seven-dials.

Where are the well-curled wig, the silken hose, the silver-buckled

shoes, the bouquet, the white gloves--where? Echo answers, "Where?"

Behind this vehicle might be heard the wheels of a tilbury, guided by

an impatient young exquisite in the extreme of fashion, his glossy

hat perched slantingly on his well-oiled, curly hair; his tight frock

coat lined and faced with silk and velvet; the snowy corner of a

white pocket-handkerchief peeping out of the breast pocket, perfuming

the air with the choicest scents of Arabia; the half-blown moss-rose

in his button-hole; his boots shining in all the brilliancy of

_day_--and Martin, and his hands enveloped in light fawn coloured kid

gloves.

"How much?" asks the dandy.

"Twopence," is the reply.

A shilling is thrown to the turnpike man.

"You may keep the change, old fellow."

"Quite the gentleman!" exclaims the collector.

Then comes the cabriolet (now out of fashion), on its well-balanced

springs, plainly painted--"unadorned adorned the most." See the

owner, how he prides himself on his splendid horse and diminutive

"tiger!"

"Now, Sir," exclaims the driver and _mis_-conductor of a galloping

"bus," with two raw-boned bits of blood, ten outside and thirteen in,

trying to pass the cabriolet. "Don't keep the whole of the King's

highway."

The unfortunate owner of the cabriolet stops rather suddenly, and

finds himself, like the lions at the Zoological Gardens, "stirred up

with a long pole."

A rival "bus" approaches. "Bank! Bank! City! Bank!" cries the

conductor. The driver makes a rush to pass both vehicles, locks his

wheel in that of the cabriolet, leaving it in what the Americans term

"a very unhandsome fix."

"I hate these French himportations and hinventions, the homnibusses!"

exclaims the gate-keeper, "they're a regular nuisance."

Then might be seen approaching a pony-phaeton, with a duedecimo

postilion, and a pair of long-tailed Arabians, containing two

of England's loveliest daughters--the turnpike-man is lost in

admiration. Quickly follows the light Whitechapel cart with a

fast trotter, "surrounding objects rendered invisible by extreme

_w_elocity," as the owner declares, who by his bulldog and his

costume shows he belonged to the once royally-patronised prize-ring.

But see! a "drag" approaches; it is the perfection of neatness, one

of Adams's[1] best--body yellow, slightly picked out with black;

under carriage black; two servants in plain liveries behind four

spicy nags--three greys and a chestnut--each ready to leap through

his collar, put together with skill and working beautifully. The

driver is evidently a first-rate artist, a perfect master of the

science. See how well he has his team in hand! He is every inch

a coachman. Our turnpike-man brightens up and, doffing his hat

respectfully, exclaims,

[1] Adams, now Hooper, Victoria Street.

"Now, that's what I like to see--a gentleman patronising the road!

He's a right regular and right honourable trump, and no mistake!"

And no mistake was there, for the driver was John Warde. A

fashionable equestrian now rides by,

"With heel insidious by the side

Provokes the caper which he seems to chide;"

and a "galloping snob" of Rotten Row, since immortalised in song,

follows him. Half a dozen spring-vans decorated with flags and

laurels, containing men, women, and children, barrels of beer, and

baskets of provisions, are the East-End Benevolent Society, on their

road to Bushey Park to enjoy a picnic under its stately avenues of

horse-chestnuts.

"It's a poor heart that never rejoices!" says the man at the gate,

smirking at the females as he gives the ticket, and helping himself

to a handful of apples from a neighbouring barrow-woman's stall,

which he throws into the laps of the delighted juveniles. A key

bugle, playing "Love's young dream," announces the approach of

another "drag;" but what a contrast to the one I have described! It

is painted green, picked out with red, evidently an old stage-coach

metamorphosed; for a close observer might perceive the words "Chatham

and Rochester," partly defaced, and painted over with a fancy crest

and motto; the driver sitting, like a journeyman tailor on his board,

with one servant behind, with a gaudy livery and gold-laced hat; the

horses, one blind, two kickers and a bolter, evidently bent on having

a way of their own. "Regular Brummagem," exclaims the man of "no

trust." "All is not gold that glitters."

Next comes a youth on an animal long in the neck and high in the

bone, accoutred with a pair of saddle-bags, his twanging horn

announcing him to be the suburban postman, the

"Herald of a noisy world;

News from all nations lumbering at his back."

The hand of the clock is on the stroke of four, and, although no

carriage is within sight, the collector is at his post, change and

ticket in hand; within a few seconds a phaeton, with "harnessed

meteors" flashes through the gate. The words "ticket," "all right,"

have passed more quickly than I can write them. That is the carriage

of some gentleman who possesses a villa at Richmond, and whose

avocations call him to town twice a week.

"That's a regular gentleman," says the pike; "quite a timekeeper, no

need of a watch the day he passes, and he always stands a turkey at

Christmas."

Next comes a hearse with numerous mourning-coaches, returning from

all the pride and pomp of a funeral pageant. What a contrast now to

the last time the procession passed the gate! Then the tears of a

widowed wife, the sobs of a bereaved daughter, might be heard; now

all is vulgar mirth and uproarious merriment; the trappings of woe,

the plumes, the "inky cloaks," the customary suits of solemn black,

are a perfect mockery of grief.

Turn we to a brighter theme. An advanced guard of a crack Lancer

regiment announces the approach of the Royal cortége. The

acclamations that rend the sky herald the approach of the "observed

of all observers," the luxurious George IV., then in the height of

his popularity. Such was the turnpike gate in bygone days.

Few sights were more amusing than the "White Horse Cellar,"

Piccadilly, in the old times of coaching. What a confusion--what a

Babel of tongues! The tumult, the noise, was worthy the pen of a Boz,

or the pencil of Cruikshank. People hurrying hither and thither,

some who had come too soon, others too late. There were carriages,

hackney-coaches, vans, carts, and barrows; porters jostling, touters

swearing, cads elbowing, coachmen wrangling, passengers grumbling,

men pushing, women scolding. Trunks, portmanteaus, hat-boxes,

band-boxes, strewed the pavement; orange merchants, cigar merchants,

umbrella merchants, dog merchants, sponge merchants, proclaiming

the superiority of their various wares; pocket-knives with ten

blades, a cork-screw, button-hook, punch, picker, lancet, gimlet,

gun-screw, and a saw; trouser-straps, four pairs a shilling;

silver watch-guards--"cheap, cheap, very cheap;" patent pens and

(n)ever-pointed pencils, twelve a shilling; bandana handkerchiefs,

that had never seen foreign parts, to be given away for an old hat;

London sparrows, as the coachmakers would say, "yellow bodies," were

passed off as canaries, though "their wood notes wild" had never

been heard out of the sound of Bow Bells; ill-shaven curs, "shaven

and shorn," and looking like the priest in the child's story, "all

forlorn," painted, powdered, and decked with blue ribbons, assumed

the form of French poodles who "did everything but speak;" members of

the Society for the Diffusion of Knowledge were hawking literature

at the lowest rate imaginable--"H'annuals at the small charge of

one shilling; the h'engraings, to h'any h'amateur, worth double the

money;" the "Prophetic Almanack" neatly bound, one penny; "a yard and

a half of songs for a half-penny;" and "Larks in London," pictorially

illustrated, for one shilling.

The remainder of the group consisting of perambulating piemen,

coachmen out of place, country clods, town cads--gaping, talking,

wondering; the din occasionally interrupted by a street serenade,

the trampling of cattle, or the music of a guard's horn. In our day,

the interesting sight of some well-appointed coach drawn up before

the old "White Horse Cellar" may still be witnessed, divested of

the noise and confusion of former times. The coachman--generally

speaking a gentleman--quietly takes his seat on the box, the guard

is attentive to the inside and outside passengers, and at the "All

ready!" cheers the lookers-on with the sound of his horn; while

the four spicy nags trot along Piccadilly at a steady pace, to be

increased when they get off the stones.

CHAPTER XII.

AMATEUR DRAGSMEN--THE LATE FITZROY STANHOPE--THE OLD

DRIVING CLUB OF 1808--THE HON. LINCOLN STANHOPE--THE WHIP

CLUB--DESCRIPTION OF THE CARRIAGES--SONG OF THE WHIP

CLUB--OUTRÉE DRESS OF THE DRIVERS RIDICULED BY CHARLES MATHEWS

AND JOE GRIMALDI--FOUR-IN-HAND CLUB OF THE PRESENT DAY.

CHAPTER XII.

Having dwelt at considerable length upon stage coaches and stage

coachmen, I now turn to amateurs who have distinguished themselves on

the box, and who were perfectly competent to take the reins in the

event of an accident to the regular driver. Here I am reminded that

upon one occasion, when Bramble was driving the Chichester coach to

London, and was prevented completing the journey from an accident,

the present Duke of Richmond, then Earl of March, took his place, and

landed his passengers safe and sound at the "White Horse Cellar,"

Piccadilly.

Among gentlemen coachmen of bygone times may be mentioned the late

Lords Clonmel and Sefton, Sir Charles Bamfylde, Sir Lawrence Palk,

Sir John Rogers, Sir Felix Agar, Sir Bellingham Graham, Sir Henry

Parnell, Sir Thomas Mostyn, Sir John Lade, Sir Henry Peyton, the

Honourable Fitzroy Stanhope, the Honourable Charles Finch, the

Honourable Thomas Kenyon, Messrs. T. R. and J. Walker, Maddox, Warde

(the father of the field and road), Charles Buxton, Henry Villebois,

Okeover, Annesley, Harrison, of Shelswell, and last, not least,

"Tommy Onslow," immortalised in the well-known lines:--

"What can Tommy Onslow do?

He can drive a phaeton and two.

Can Tommy Onslow do no more?

Yes; he can drive a phaeton and four."

At a later period we have had the Dukes of Beaufort, the Marquis of

Waterford, the Earls of Chesterfield, Londesborough, Waldegrave,

Sefton, and Rosslyn; Lords Alfred Paget, Alford, Rivers, Worcester,

Macdonald, Powerscourt, Colonel Copeland, Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Sir

E. Smythe, George Payne, Esq., H. Villebois, Esq., Prince Batthyany,

A. W. Hervey Aston, Esq., J. Angerstein, Esq., and T. Barnard, Esq.

And here I am reminded of one who, as an amateur coachman and

vocalist, was second to none. I allude to the late Honourable

Fitzroy Stanhope, than whom a kinder-hearted creature never existed.

Few men had seen more of the world in all its phases than poor

Stanhope; but under whatever circumstances you met him, whether at

the social board, on the racecourse, on the box of a "drag," in the

snuggery of the Garrick Club, or in the shooting-field, he was ever

the high-bred gentleman. His nerve and head when on the box were

wonderfully good. I well recollect sitting behind him on the late

Hervey Aston's coach at Ascot races, when the owner, who was rather

short-sighted, drove his leaders against some very strong ropes that

surrounded the booths; and, as the team was very skittish, we must

have come to grief had not Fitzroy, in the coolest manner, helped us

out of the scrape by catching hold of the reins. This he did in a

most quiet and good-humoured manner, and with so much tact that Aston

was pleased instead of being offended.

"You are an excellent coachman," said Stanhope, "but a little too

venturesome; there, take the ribbons again, no one handles them

better."

The above was the second escape from accident that befell us that

day. In driving out of the Knightsbridge Barracks, Aston managed to

get his leaders and wheelers huddled together, and, the salute of the

sentry at the gate frightening them, the wheel came in contact with

the post and the pole snapped in two. Fortunately, assistance was at

hand, and the only ill result was a delay of some twenty minutes. I

was on the box at the time; and, thinking probably other difficulties

might arise on the road, I urged Fitzroy Stanhope to change places.

Stanhope's vocal powers were of the first-rate order, as all will

bear testimony who listened to his merry and musical voice when he

carolled forth "The Swell Dragsman," "The Bonny Owl," "The days that

we got tipsy in, a long time ago," and other convivial songs. Poor

Fitzroy! his loss was deeply felt by a large circle of friends.

And here let me place before my readers a description of the

four-in-hand club of 1808. This club was in the habit of meeting

once or twice a month in London, and then proceeding some fifteen

or twenty miles into the country to dine, returning at night. It

was called the "Driving Club," and the carriages turned out in the

following order:--

Sir Henry Peyton's barouche-landau, four bays.

Mr. Annesley's barouche-landau, four roans, thoroughbred.

Mr. Stephen Glynn's barouche-landau, four bays.

Mr. Villebois's barouche-landau, four bays.

Mr. Whitmore's barouche-landau, four bays.

Mr. O'Conver's barouche-landau, four bays.

Mr. Pierrepoint's barouche-landau, four bays.

Sir Thomas Mostyn's barouche-landau, four bays.

Lord Foley's barouche-landau, four bays.

Mr. J. Warde's barouche-landau, four bays.

"After dining at Bedford," so writes a chronicler of that day, "they

dashed home in a style of speed and splendour equal to the spirit and

judgment displayed by the noble, honourable, and respective drivers."

Another club, called the "Whip Club," in rivalship with the above,

met once a month in Park Lane, and proceeded thence to dine at

Harrow-on-the-Hill. There were fifteen barouche-landaus, with four

horses; Lord Hawke, the Honourable Lincoln Stanhope, and Mr. Buxton

were among the leaders. Lincoln Stanhope was one of the most popular

men of the day. He was never known to say an unkind word, never known

to do an unkind action. Peace be with him! for he was one in whom the

soldier, the courtier, and the man of honour were so happily blended

that, when a few of his remaining compatriots shall have passed away,

I fear we may long search the fashionable throng in vain to find

another.

The following was the style of the sets-out of the Whip

Club:--Yellow-bodied carriages, with whip springs and dickey

boxes; cattle of a bright bay colour, with silver-plate ornaments

on the harness and rosettes to the ears. The costume of the

drivers consisted of a light drab-coloured cloth coat, made full,

single-breasted, with three tiers of pockets, the skirts reaching to

the ankles, a mother o'pearl button of the size of a crown piece;

waistcoat blue and yellow stripe, each stripe an inch in depth;

small clothes corded silk plush, made to button over the calf of

the leg, with sixteen strings, and rosettes to each knee; the boots

very short, and finished with very broad straps, which hung over the

tops and down to the ankle; a hat three inches and a half deep in

the crown only, and the same depth in the brim; each wore a large

bouquet of flowers at the breast, resembling the coachmen of the

nobility on a drawing-room or levee day. The popular song of the Whip

Club ran as follows, I only remember the first verse:--

"With spirits gay we mount the box, the tits up to the traces,

Our elbows squared, our wrists turned down, dash off at awful paces;

With Buxton bit, bridoon so trim, three chestnuts and a grey--

Well coupled up the wheelers then--Ya, hip! we bowl away."

Many most distinguished men have in our day not thought it derogatory

to their dignity to work a public stage-coach, and among them may

be mentioned the Marquis of Worcester, father to the present Duke

of Beaufort, on the "Evening's Amusement;" and most delightful

"amusement" it was to pass an "evening" by the side of the noble

Plantagenet. Then there were the Earl of Harborough, on the

"Monarch," Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Bart., the ex-10th Hussar, and

Charles Jones, Esq., on "The Age;" the Honourable Francis Stafford

Jerningham, on the "Day Mail," Sackville Gwynne, on the "Beaufort;"

John Willan, Esq., on the "Early Times;" and young Musgrave, on the

"Union," all of whom "fretted their hour upon the stage." One very

great improvement has taken place in the dress of amateur coachmen,

whose costume is as different in our day from that of the time when

George the Third was king, as the brilliant gas in our streets is

from the oily rays that rendered darkness visible in the metropolis.

So outrée was the costume of amateur coachmen early in the present

century that it gave rise to innumerable squibs and caricatures. One

squib, embodied in a popular song, ran as follows:--

"On Epsom Downs

Says Billy, 'Zounds!

That cannot be Lord Jackey.

Egad, but now

I see it is,

I took him for his lackey.'"

Again, Charles Mathews as Dick Cypher in the farce of "Hit or Miss"

caricatured the dress so well that he gave offence to many of the

noble whips.

Grimaldi, the inimitable Joe Grimaldi, also introduced in a Christmas

pantomime a scene in which both coaches and coachmen were ridiculed.

Out of a light-coloured Witney blanket he made himself a box-coat

reaching down to his ankles, small plates formed the buttons, a bunch

of cabbages the bouquet in the button-hole; a low, white-crowned

hat, purloined from "Mr. Felt, hatter," formed his head-dress; boots

with paper tops, from "Mr. Last, shoemaker," adorned his legs, to

which were attached some ribbons he abstracted from a lady's bonnet;

while the carriage which he drove triumphantly across the stage was

composed of a child's wicker cradle, with Gloucester cheeses from a

butter-man's for wheels, his whip a fishing-rod with a lash attached

to it, and four spotted wooden horses, which (before the march of

intellect furnished amusing books for the young) formed the stud of

childhood, completed the whole.

Seated on a high stool in the above vehicle, his elbows squared,

and with the usual number of "ge ups!" "go along!" he convulsed the

audience with laughter. What a contrast there is between the dress

of the present day and that above recorded! Gentlemen no longer ape

the manners or costumes of their coachmen and grooms, but appear as

gentlemen should appear.

The heavy box-coat is discarded in Summer for the light-coloured

dust-coat; the hat is no longer preposterously low; a neat,

cutaway olive brown or blue coat, with club buttons, supersedes

the over-pocketed drab coat; well-cut trousers from Poole's, with

varnished boots, take the place of the cord "inexpressibles" and

brown tops; the striped, livery-looking waistcoat and gaudy,

"bird's-eye" neckcloth are replaced by a plain waistcoat and simple

necktie.

Then the improvement in coaches, horses, and harness! The "drags" are

not now of showy colours, emblazoned with arms like the Lord Mayor's

state carriage; the horses are thoroughbred and fine steppers, the

harness neat and plain. Ladies need no longer scramble up to the

box-seat or roof to the detriment of their dresses, small iron

ladders being made to fix on the sides, while an amateur player on

the cornet-à-piston or horn enlivens the journey with a concord of

sweet sounds.

At this present moment there are two coaching clubs--the Coaching

Club and the Four-in-Hand Club.

Among the members of the above clubs may be mentioned the following

distinguished names:

Duke of Beaufort.

Duke of Sutherland.

Marquis of Londonderry.

Earl of Sefton.

Earl of Macclesfield.

Lord Londesborough.

Lord Wenlock.

Lord Aveland.

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